


If the Doctor Dances

by amandaithink



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Interfering TARDIS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27631036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandaithink/pseuds/amandaithink
Summary: After Canary Wharf, the Doctor has a lot of regrets.
Relationships: Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Rose Tyler
Comments: 14
Kudos: 70
Collections: Stuck Like Glue





	If the Doctor Dances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SunnieBelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnieBelle/gifts).



> This is a fic for [sunniebelle](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/sunniebelle)'s [prompt](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/doctorroseprompts/633872004655759360) at [doctorroseprompts](https://doctorroseprompts.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. The prompt has tons of spoilers so I'm just leaving it as a link. sunniebelle, I hope you like the fic!
> 
> All of the gratitude to [more1weasley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/more1weasley/pseuds/more1weasley) for being the best beta ever!
> 
> All mistakes are mine, as per usual.

The moment the TARDIS had safely entered the Vortex, the Doctor wasn’t sure it had been a good idea to refuse Donna’s offer of Christmas dinner. It would have hurt, spending the holiday without Rose, trying to keep up the facade that everything was okay, that he was _fine_ . Then again, he wasn’t sure that it would have hurt more than _this_.

Alone on his ship, the TARDIS’ hum was the only thing keeping the silence from becoming truly oppressive. Even so, he felt like he was being bombarded with her absence.

The Doctor glanced down at the controls. At any given moment he usually had countless ideas for where to go next, an unending list of places and times and historical figures it would be interesting to see. He still did.

It was just …

What was the _point_?

What was the point, if he couldn’t show it all to _her_ ? Experience it _with_ her? View the wonders of the Universe through Rose Tyler’s eyes, their hands clasped together as they ran through time and space?

None of it felt like it _mattered_ anymore.

Over nine hundred years, and he had lost so much, been through so much. He didn’t know how he was possibly expected to get through _this_.

His anguished cry echoed through the room as he pushed himself violently away from the console and forced himself to march down the corridor before he did something that he would likely regret later - like destroy the last TARDIS in existence. Right now he wouldn’t put it past him. He couldn’t trust himself.

The Doctor paused outside of the galley. Maybe a nice cuppa would help him begin to sort through the pain that was threatening to rip him into pieces. He opened the door, took a step inside, and then froze.

Rose’s favorite mug sat on the counter next to a plate of half eaten toast. Three open jars of jam were near it - they had been taste testing.

Throat tight, he turned around, fleeing the room.

Without too much thought, mind forcing him to relive memories of Rose bringing him cups of tea while he worked on repairs, the Doctor entered the library. Before he could collapse onto the sofa, his eyes locked on her favorite throw balled up near the armrest. On the coffee table sat a complete collection of Shakespeare’s work. They had been reading Much Ado About Nothing - she enjoyed the plays more when he read them aloud, said that the strange words made more sense that way.

With each breath he took it felt as though shards of glass were piercing his lungs.

He ran out, not paying attention to where his feet were taking him, vision blurred with tears that he foolishly tried to hold in. Was there nowhere on the ship that didn’t ring out with her absence? The Doctor blindly opened a door, eyes closed as he gave in.

 _I love you_ , she’d told him.

He would never see her again.

It had been his last chance to say it. His last chance, and he’d _run out of time_. Now she would never know that he loved her, too.

The Doctor dropped to the floor, legs messily criss crossing as he covered his tear streaked face. He didn’t want to know where he’d ended up, certain that wherever it was would only echo sharply with it’s lack of Rose Tyler. It certainly smelled like her, and that was bad enough.

 _I love you_ , she’d told him, and why couldn’t he have just _said it back_?!

Then at least she would have _known_. Because he’d known how she felt even without the words - Rose had shown him constantly. Unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same for himself.

Sure, more recently he’d begun to try, but his attempts were laughable. Any chance to _really_ show her, and he would deflect, make a poorly timed joke, or _run away_. Always running.

They should have had more time.

He’d been so afraid of the mere decades she’d had left to live, certain that they would ‘only’ have years together before Rose would be too old to want to run around the Universe with him - that even though she’d promised him her forever, she would need more than he was able to offer her.

Now the Doctor wished that he’d given in to every human-y impulse he’d had, because holding back obviously hadn’t lessened the pain of losing her. They could have had so much more.

With a sharp breath, he opened his eyes only to immediately scrunch them closed, hands curling into fists, nails painfully digging into his palms.

Her room.

He was in _her room_.

His insides felt hollow as he stood, fully intending to run out, but instead found himself clumsily crawling onto Rose’s bed, wrapping himself in her duvet, and burrowing his face into her pillow. If nowhere on his ship was safe, then why shouldn’t he stay here?

Gripping the blanket tighter, the Doctor couldn’t help but let out a few choked sobs as he rolled to the side and took in the mess she’d left.

He’d never get to tease her again about making so much clutter.

They should have had more _time_.

Not just more time, even. He should have used the time they’d already had _better_ , instead of being scared of what it would do to him when _this_ day came.

His eyes landed on a dress strewn haphazardly over the chair in front of her vanity. She’d worn it out the last time they’d landed on a peaceful planet for an evening. Had actually convinced him to go back to the TARDIS to change when they’d happened upon a restaurant with dancing. Rose had, of course, asked him to dance that night.

She always did, despite the fact that he refused her every time.

He’d thought it would be too hard to pretend they were nothing more than the best of friends, that he didn’t want anything more than that, if he were to hold her close like that.

So he always refused her, and she always let him. He had spent that evening leaning against the bar, pretending not to be scowling everytime she looked his way as she’d danced the night away, a line of pretty boys always seeming to be vying for her attention. He used to slip away, telling her there was maintenance to be done on the ship (usually there wasn’t).

It had been awhile since he’d been able to do that. To leave her. The Doctor had been certain that soon he would break - they would dance together, and she would just _know_. It hadn’t stopped him from trying to hold out for as long as he could.

He should have never tried to begin with.

They had danced together once … but only once.

It was - and would likely always be - one of his favourite memories. Everyone had lived, and he had danced. And spinning around the console room with Rose Tyler in his arms, he had finally admitted to himself that his hearts were no longer his own.

But it hadn’t changed the fact that she was human, and he was a Time Lord. The _last_ of the Time Lords.

And as he sat in the console room that night after Rose and Harkness had gone to sleep, he had been _terrified_ . Certain that if he gave in, it would _break him_.

So; no more dancing.

No giving in.

Yet here he was - _broken_.

It hadn’t mattered in the slightest. He loved her, and just because she didn’t know hadn’t stopped her from consuming him.

They should have had so much more time.

His brain was a broken record, stuck on the thought. How many changes he would make if he’d known how short their ‘forever’ would be.

The Doctor hadn’t thought he’d be able to stop crying now that he’d started, but his next sob cut off with a gasp.

He was a Time Lord. The _last_ of the Time Lords. So what was stopping him from changing it?

Sure, he couldn’t actually go back and do it all over again - it didn’t work like that. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make one teeny tiny paradox, now did it?

His ship screeched in his head as he raced into the console room, lights flashing in distress. The Doctor ignored her, inputting coordinates. She was just kicking up a fuss - there was no harm in planting a teeny tiny suggestion into his past self.

“Stop being so dramatic,” he said aloud, voice rough.

He was a _Time Lord_ \- he knew what he was doing, and he had perfect recall - knew the first time Rose Tyler had asked him to dance after the Blitz, and knew just when he would be able to get himself alone.

  
  


Harkness had suggested it and he’d, of course, refused. Unfortunately, Rose had managed to flutter her eyes and he’d ended up caving. So here they were, at the Moulin Rouge of all places.

The Doctor crossed his arms, doing his level best at projecting an air of unapproachability. It wasn’t as effective as usual, with how intoxicated most of the patrons already were. Jack had already gotten himself a bottle of absinthe, and he was just thankful that Rose had refused to join him, content to drink only non-hallucinogenic alcohol. On that end, she was currently walking towards him with what appeared to be a glass of champagne.

“So, are any famous people here?” she asked as she sidled up to him and took a small sip of her drink.

He made a show of looking around, and while he _did_ think he recognized a few patrons, the Doctor couldn’t be sure and also was aware that Rose was unlikely to know their names.

“Naah,” he said. “It’s early days, May of 1890. They only got their first review a month ago, and it won’t be until the fall that the Prince of Wales visits. By next year, Toulouse-Lautrec will release his first poster. Got us in before the crowds, me.”

“And before that show Jack wanted to see. I’m pretty sure I recall him specifically requesting 1893,” Rose smirked. “Mentioned something about Cleopatra and naked ladies. Think he knows the date?”

The Doctor shrugged, looking around again to locate their companion. It wasn’t hard to find him, and while they hadn’t even hit the half hour mark yet, it seemed as though his drinks were kicking in.

“I don’t know,” he told her, “but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t care if you told him.”

She followed his gaze, giggling as they caught Harkness lean towards an attractive French bloke and nearly trip over his own feet.

“Think this is the start of another one of his stories where he ends up starkers somewhere?” Rose asked before quickly finishing her drink and sitting the glass on the tray of a passing waiter.

“Fancy making a bet?” he laughed.

“Mmm no. I think we both know how it’s going to end. Now c’mon, let’s dance,” she grinned, taking his hand.

The Doctor frowned, looking down at their clasped fingers. The music was fun and bouncy, and Rose looked beautiful, as always. But …

“No,” he forced himself to say, “think I’ll pass. You go on, though. Have fun.”

His smile felt wrong on his face, like baring teeth. He doubted he was fooling her.

“Why not?” she asked, frowning.

He wished she wouldn’t _frown_. That just made it harder.

“You know me, not much for dancing. Best save it for a special occasion,” the Doctor lied, because he couldn’t tell her the truth: that he was afraid to ever dance with her again. Afraid of what would happen if he continued to let his guard down.

Rose didn’t look like she believed him, but shrugged her shoulders anyway, letting him off the hook.

“Suit yourself,” she said, before walking up to the dance floor.

It was mere moments before one of the pretty boys that she seemed to draw in like a moth to a flame walked up to her, and then they were dancing. And of course she would choose him, why wouldn’t she? It’s not like she’d _needed_ him to dance with her. She’d just been being nice. The Doctor was sure that Rose was much happier with her current dance partner than she would have been with him.

Scowling, he turned away from the dance floor and tried to relocate Jack.

It took a little longer this time, but he eventually found him sitting at a booth in between two dancers, seemingly telling them a story. The Doctor rolled his eyes, and seeing as he didn’t fancy getting dragged into a can-can once all of that started, and he hadn’t wanted to go to the cabaret to begin with, he quietly left the building. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d gotten separated, and everyone knew to meet at the TARDIS - though he hated to think of how long he’d end up waiting on Harkness.

It was a warm night, summer quickly approaching, and he strolled leisurely in the direction of his ship. No matter what he tried to think of to distract himself, he couldn’t manage to get the grimace off his face. Really, Rose Tyler made it awfully difficult for him to ignore how he felt about her. Lines of potential suitors seemed to follow her around, none of them good enough for her in the slightest.

Not that he was. _He_ would be the worst for her of all of them.

The Doctor turned a corner and then slowed - someone was leaning against the building right in front of the alley where he’d parked the TARDIS. Probably harmless, but best to act inconspicuous.

“Beautiful night,” the bloke commented as the Doctor walked past.

“Yup,” he agreed with a noncommittal shrug.

“You’re _wasting it_ ,” the man snarled before he could turn the corner.

“Excuse me?” The Doctor paused and turned, looking him up and down. Their eyes met and he realized _exactly_ who he was speaking to. “What are _you_ doing here?!”

The future him didn’t deign to respond, instead turning his head to stare in the direction the Doctor had just come from.

“C’mon, then! There must be a reason you’re risking a paradox. Get on with it!”

“I’m sorry,” the future him - another bloody pretty boy out to ruin his night, _of course_ \- sighed before refocusing. He hadn’t seen such a melancholy look on his face since the first time he’d looked in the mirror after-

After.

“It’s fine, just tell me what you’re doing here.”

“I’m sorry,” the other him repeated, scuffing his trainers against the wall before standing up straighter.

“Yeah, I got that, b- wait. Are you trying to tell me that you traveled back in your personal timeline to _apologize_?! For what?!!”

“I don’t know. It’s … complicated.”

His eyes were black holes, but … they really didn’t seem to carry the years any more than _his own_ did.

“Complicated. _Right_. Just how far into my future are you?” the Doctor asked.

“I can’t tell you that,” his future claimed, shaking his head of ridiculous hair.

“We both know I’m going to have to forget this, so if you could stop trying to act all mysterious, that’d be great, ta,” he huffed, crossing his arms.

“You know what, _fine_ ,” the pretty boy wearing plimsolls with a _suit_ snarled. “Not long. Maybe about, ohhh, two, two and a half years? Turns out we’re quite jeopardy friendly ourselves. Happy? Good.”

His future self spun around and began walking away, toward the cabaret.

For a moment, the Doctor stood there, stunned. While the other him hadn’t said when it was that he regenerated, it was a _very_ small window. This body _should_ last him hundreds of years! Really, he’d barely used it.

Thankfully, he snapped out of it and quickly caught up with the next Doctor, who was walking stiffly, hands shoved into the pocket of the coat Janis Joplin had given them. It was the only part of his ensemble that the Doctor didn’t necessarily hate.

“Just where is it you think you’re going?” he asked, letting his tone communicate the implied accusation. 

There was something … dangerous … about this version of himself. He just couldn’t put his finger on what it was. At least, not yet.

“Earth, Paris, 1890 - I’m taking in the sights. Get a croissant, catch a show, maybe even check out the Eiffel Tower. It’s brand new, you know. The possibilities are endless.”

“You’re heading toward the Moulin Rouge, I’m not an idiot - though I don’t look forward to becoming one. All looks and no brains, the Universe is going to fall to pieces. What’s going on? Is Rose in danger?”

His future self stumbled, an audible gasp escaping before he corrected himself.

A sinking feeling washed over the Doctor as he asked his next question.

“Where _is_ Rose? Your Rose.”

This time the other him stopped completely. They were both silent for far too long as the Doctor waited for his answer.

“I lost her,” he finally choked out. “She’s trapped in a parallel world. We- we can never see her again.”

The pretty boy in pinstripes offered no resistance when the Doctor immediately gave into the urge to punch the tosser he was about to regenerate into right in the face.

“You _lost her_ ?!” he found himself shouting. “ _How_?!”

The future him covered his cheek, an unsettling look of determination in his eyes replacing the former hopelessness. He didn’t answer the question.

“I have so many regrets,” he said instead. “We wasted so much time.” His future self looked around him as if really seeing his surroundings for the first time, a manic gleam in his otherwise dead eyes. The Doctor took an involuntary step backwards, a natural reaction to seeing a Time Lord that seemed to have gone _insane_. “We’re in _France_?!”

“Yeah, France. That _is_ where the most famous Paris on Earth is, and the original Moulin Rouge,” the Doctor said slowly, if not more than a bit cockily.

“But Rose _hates_ France. Ah, wait. No. _Will_ hate France. My bad. My _fault_ , actually, if we’re being honest. So many regrets,” the other him groaned, ruffling his hair before whirling back around and picking up the pace as he continued toward the cabaret.

The Doctor clenched his fists. He had a general idea of what his future self had in mind, of what _he_ was capable of if there was no one around to stop him. If there was no Rose Tyler.

“You can’t take her,” he all but shouted, grabbing the next him’s arm in an attempt to stop him only to get shaken off. His whole being tingled in a bad way as the temporal disturbance worsened.

“I’m not going to take her. She isn’t even going to know that I’m _me_. You. Eh, you know what I mean,” the pretty boy said with an absent wave of his hand as the Moulin Rouge came into view.

The Doctor was running out of time.

“So what exactly _are_ you doing, then?”

“I’m going to dance with her,” he stated, matter-of-fact.

“You’re going to put _the entire Universe_ at risk for _dancing_ ?!” the Doctor exclaimed. Of all the stupid, ridiculous, _idiotic_ things!

The other him simply shrugged, and the Doctor could tell that he really _didn’t care_. None of it mattered to this broken version of himself, shattered in a way that he didn’t believe he’d ever been, even right after he’d ended the Time War.

“Alright, tell me this,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “All pretty as you are, were you and Rose- ?”

“No,” the future him breathed. “You know us. Cowards, every time. I just wish-”

The Doctor didn’t find out how that sentence would have ended, as he’d finally found the stun gun he’d confiscated from Harkness the day before, and now the other Doctor was a crumpled heap of pinstripes on the dirty cobblestones.

“I’d say I was sorry, but I’m really not,” he grunted as he struggled to get his future self into a fireman’s carry. “More trouble than you’re worth.”

It didn’t take him terribly long to find the future version of his ship, where he left the next him leaning against the door after carefully entering his own mind and forcing him into a regenerative coma in the hopes that when he came to he’d be _sane_.

Finally, after all of that, the Doctor reached his TARDIS. Exhausted, and quite ready to forget that he’d ever run into a future him, he slid his key into the lock, and … nothing.

He pushed at the door. Nothing.

He _pulled_ on the door. Nothing.

“What are you playing at?” he scowled at his ship.

In response, he received a hum that managed to be both smug _and_ irritated. The Doctor jiggled the key, trying to get it to turn - it didn’t. He scanned her with his sonic screwdriver - all of the readings were normal.

“He’s _fine_ ,” he assured the TARDIS, taking a guess about what had her so upset and rolling his eyes. “Well, maybe not _fine_ . Off his rocker, but I don’t know what more you expect _me_ to do about it. I’ve maintained the timeline, that’s all I can do.”

Another frustrated hum, and then a vision of him and Rose dancing together.

“What, you think I should have _let him_?!”

The hand he had still pressed against the door was zapped, and the Doctor quickly removed it as the vision played again, this time with a focus on _him_ . _This_ him.

“You want _me_ to dance with her? _Why_ ?!” he asked, boldly trying the door again. “Of all the- if I wasn’t going to before, I certainly can’t _now_. I’ve got future knowledge that says I _never-_ ”

His eyes slid shut and the Doctor slumped against the TARDIS as she helped him initiate a memory lock. A minute later he jolted back up, furiously pushing at the door of his time ship.

“Of all the meddling-”

Zap!

“Since when do you care if I-”

Zap!

“Bloody hell! Fine! _One dance_. And it’s _not_ going to be the can-can!”

The Doctor walked back to the Moulin Rouge, muttering unflattering things about his interfering ship the whole way. When he re-entered the cabaret, Jack was nowhere to be seen - not surprising. He quickly spotted Rose, still on the dance floor, smiling at a different pretty boy.

He frowned and crossed his arms, wishing for once that the alcohol on Earth affected him the way it did humans. Unfortunately, there was nothing for it. One dance, just to make the TARDIS happy (and what was _that_ even about, anyway?) and then he’d leave again. The Doctor dropped his arms, straightened his shoulders, and marched into the fray.

“Oi! Mind if I cut in?” he asked once he reached Rose and her overly friendly dance partner, though ‘ask’ was a strong word - he pushed the bloke to the side and took Rose’s hands before either of them had time to respond. “Didn’t think so. Go on then,” he told the man, gesturing with his head toward the bar before managing to spin himself and Rose away.

“Hey!” she complained, “What the hell was that about?! I thought you didn’t even want to dance?”

“Changed me mind,” was all the Doctor said in response, as he didn’t really have an answer for her first question.

Well, he did. It just wasn’t something he wanted to admit to.

For a moment he was absolutely positive that Rose was about to start shouting at him, but then she sighed, cast her eyes skyward, and then … _smiled_.

“Fine. Not that I want you makin’ a habit of this, but alright. Let’s dance.”

The Doctor came out of his healing coma slowly, disoriented as his brain sluggishly came back online. He panicked for a moment, not knowing where he was or how he got there, calming only when he realized that he was leaning against the TARDIS.

Streets seemed Earth-like. European, late 19th century.

Paris. He was in Paris.

Why was he in Paris?

The last time he was in late 19th century, Paris was-

His eyes widened and his respiratory bypass kicked in as the Doctor as it all came back to him. He remembered, and was _horrified_.

How could he have _done that_?! Why had the TARDIS _let him_?!

Well, maybe because it had already happened. Circular paradox. _Thank Rassilon_ his past self had been able to stop him.

The Doctor still couldn’t remember what exactly had been going through his mind when he’d decided to cross his own timeline. All he knew was that it had something to do with Rose.

He braced himself for the crushing pain that filled him everytime he thought of her … but it didn’t come. Before he could properly wonder why that was, new memories began to unlock in his mind, running parallel to his original memories. To his original _timeline_.

While he’d thought he’d been disoriented before, it was nothing compared to _this_. Still, he slowly rose from where he’d remained leaning against his ship, only stumbling once as a wave of vertigo hit him.

What was true? What was reality now that he’d managed to alter it, despite knowing for a fact that his past self _had_ repressed the memory? Was the Universe even _safe_? Or was time about to unravel around him?

The TARDIS hummed soothingly as he slowly pushed open the door.

“Doctor?”

His respiratory bypass system kicked in, and for a moment he stared at the grating, afraid to look up.

“I’ve been lookin’ for you all over. Where’d we land?”

It was the voice of a ghost. But not. The Doctor closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe.

“Nowhere,” he answered, finally raising his head. “Got the date wrong. Have to try again.”

Rose Tyler looked stunning, dressed in a denim jacket, a floral dress, tights and some boots. She always looked stunning, no matter what she was wearing. And now he was going to make sure he told her. That he always told her.

“Alright then,” she laughed. Such a brilliant laugh. “And where are we _supposed_ to be going?”

“How do you feel about dancing?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!
> 
> Kudos are always appreciated && I would love to hear your feedback!!


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